


The Drop-Off

by fizzybubblespop



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist, Fullmetal Alchemist (Anime 2003)
Genre: Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-28
Updated: 2013-09-06
Packaged: 2017-12-13 05:30:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,974
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/820550
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fizzybubblespop/pseuds/fizzybubblespop
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AlWrath high school AU. trigger warnings: suicide, mentions of violence, mentions of incest</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. 01

            When my neighbor woke up, I tried to ignore it. But some months went by and every night the light from his room would glare through my window. It got harder to sleep. I adjusted the curtains, switched beds—didn't work.

            He never stops by, so I never have the chance to complain. Realistically, I don't know why he would.

            It's a cool summer night that would be perfect for sleeping if it weren't for that light. I'm overtired and can't take it anymore, so I open the window and cross the roof—the buildings in this complex were practically built on top of each other, so a hop and a step up, and I'm on the other side.

            He's in his room, and facing away from the window—my throat tightens. Maybe I should wait 'til later. But I take a breath, knock loud and fast.

             He stiffens straight up then turns around and looks at me. He walks over, opens the window.

            "Oh...wow. I... How are you?" He looks so worried. And its strange because he's chalky and bony now. His hair tangles over his skull, falling past his shoulders. He looks even weirder than before.

            Funny, because mine hasn't grown an inch below my ears since the crash.

            "Yeah," I say, "I'm okay. You—"

            His face turns pink and he talks over his words, "I'm almost better—it shouldn't be much longer. They kept me in the hospital for ages already...I thought I was going to go crazy."

            "You look like it." His words still sound so...detached. They put a bitter taste in my mouth.

            He sort of laughs, then looks down. The silence is like those scratchy button-up shirts he used to wear.

            "I just came over to let you know about your light. It's been shining through curtains every—"

            He sighs, looking back into his room. "I'm sorry—it's  my brother again. He can't stand having them closed... he doesn't like feeling cooped up. I _tried_ to tell him, but..."

            It's like someone punched me in the face. My mouth is numb. "Oh...it's fine," I manage to say. It's hard to focus. I reach out to shake his hand.

            His face goes blank when he sees my right arm—prosthetic now . Of all times to use that one...

            "I—I didn't mean to stare. I—you—are you okay? I...never mind," he takes a light hold and shakes it with a smile, "I'm glad you're still around. It's been, well... _I've_ been lonely."

            _He doesn't know?_

            I nod, throat choked. He hasn't let go yet. A feeling of sickness chills me.

            _How doesn't he know?_

            I slide my hand out, then head back, "Night, Al." My face is feverishly hot and I can't stop my shoulders from shaking.

            From across the roof, he wishes me a good night. But its hard to believe him; his brother's been dead for a year and a half. 

                                         

            By the time I'm back in my room, curtains closed, tears are welling in my throat. I unstrap my arm and hurl it at the floor. My knees are shaking—I can't take it. I scream, stumbling to rip the blankets off my bed. My heart is pounding, pounding, pounding...

            I run downstairs, ram my fist into the wall. No feeling. Again, and again, and again until my knuckles are raw. Catch my breath for a minute.

            _What are you doing? Cool down, cool down. Stop it._  I stomp into the kitchen and open the cabinet. As I reach for a cup, the anger surges and I swipe them all over. They tumble over as I drop to the floor, curl up, shaking. My face is wet. Pathetic.

            His vague presence. Those ignorant smiles.

            "I hate him," I choke. "I hate him, I hate him, I hate him."

            Even now, nothing really means anything to him. No one except his fucking _brother_.

            Who the hell was I to think Al'd come back and things would be different? Who the _hell_ was I to think that I would be rewarded—no, _acknowledged_ —for trying to fix something that was my fault in the first place?

            I slam my palm into the floor.

            Even if all he does fucking care about it his brother, shouldn't he, at least, know what happened to my arm? The Rockbells up and paid for the thing—of course they would've mentioned it.

            I sniffle. I'm hopeless.

            He forgot. Of _course_ , he forgot.

            The waiting was for nothing. Nights on the roof watching his empty room, pacing in front of the hospital, holding my breath when the car would pull up, and chickening out when he finally was back... None of it mattered. I'm done.

            I'll head up to the Drop-Off in the morning.

           

            The doorbell wakes me up; I haven't heard it in forever. It's bright—morning, and I'm still on the kitchen floor. It rings again.

            "Coming..." I croak and lift myself up. _Not today._  
            It's Al. Of course it is. He's tied his hair up behind his head, and he looks a little healthier than he did last night—probably the sun. He's wearing that brown, bulky jacket Ed always used to.

            He doesn't remember his brother's neck twisted out of its collar. On the other side of the truck, Ed's body laid in the dirt and needles until the night set in.

            "Oh, were you sleeping? I can come back later."  His eyes keep glancing down at the stump of my elbow.

            "Uh, ehm, no," I clear my throat, "Why're you here?"

            He pops up in surprise. "No particular reason. I thought, if you wanted to catch up..."

            I should say no. Slam the door. _Don't let him get you off-track now._

            But some dumb part of my head gets the better of me, "I needed to pick up some stuff up today, if you wanna come along."

           

            We're quiet most of the way. No cars zip past us, and the skies are empty. I keep wondering if he's noticed yet. If he still talks to his _brother_ , how can he be aware of _anything_?

            "Al, what do you remember?"

            "Remember?"

            "About the crash." It's easy to avoid eye contact now that he's so tall.

            It takes him a while. "Some... not the crash itself..." it's like he's talking to someone else. "I couldn't remember anything for a while. But now—I can remember most of the day, up until the parking lot..."

            A stab of guilt. I tuck my right arm into my hoodie. "Sorry," I mumble, and hope he doesn't catch it.

 

            When we get to the store, Al shadows me through the aisles; it puts me on edge, but I'm already here so it'd be pointless to leave empty-handed. I pretend to browse. When enough time's passed, I walk by and grab a ring of rope. Then, to be safe, a portable flashlight, and start on my way out.

            "Should you...pay?"

            I shrug and keep walking.

            Then he stamps towards me, eyebrows furrowed, and tugs the rope from my hand. He walks over and sets it on the register.

            What does he think he's doing? "You _do_ realize there's no—"

            He looks me in the eye, "I returned it." His tone is sharp. Hollow.

            It startles me. What the hell's gotten into him? I sigh and go outside.          

            Footsteps rush after me. "What do you think you're doing!?" his voice cracks. It echoes on the silence.

            I clench my teeth; I'd never realized he's so perceptive. Acting like he didn't have a clue about anything, and now—damn, he pisses me off.

            "Your brother—" the words jump out of my chest, "Your brother is _dead_!"

            I shouldn't have said that. I really shouldn't have said that.

            Al just kind of stands there. He doesn't look hurt, and then, with an air of tranquility, "In theory."

            I freeze. What kind of bullshit is that?

            "No, you're right," he almost grins, "I guess he is."

            It's cold.

 

            I walk further from home, but he keeps on following me down the street. Its the middle of the afternoon when we pass Farwell—it's the first time I've been back by here. The school looks even smaller when the parking lot's empty.

            Then I realize that his last memory of 10th grade is probably being hit in the back of the head here, so I cringe I turn away down the nearest street.

            Al lingers at the corner. Is he alright? I go a few more steps, but he doesn't follow.

            "It's September already," I can't tell if he's talking to me, "and it's...Wednesday. Doesn't this mean we're ditching?" He grins.

            "I'm not going back in there."

            "You think I _want_ to be going to school?"

            I shrug, "'Careful what you wish for."  
            He rolls his eyes, "Just a peek. You coming?"

            I glance over at the building; there's a reason I've kept it out of my head for so long. But Al's already started walking over, and I can't let him mess this up.

                                                 

            Inside, the lights are on and bouncing spitefully off the tile floors. Doors are propped open like its passing period, but there's no one around. Our footsteps echo—the lights buzz. I follow him down the halls for a while; I can't tell if he's looking for something.

            "Did you have Biology Ms. Donogue?" Al asks me, glancing into a room.

            "What?"  
            "Ms. Donogue...I'm pretty sure her class was down this hall."

            "Oh, you mean Bio?"

            He keeps walking. Towards the end, he enters another room, "Here it is!"

 

            The class is familiar. I remember sitting at the lab table in the back corner with that phone buzzing over and over again in my pocket. The kid next to me kept looking over. I wasn't going to check it.

 

            "The students were, well, as usual, but I really did like this class." Al's exploring the room now.

 

            As each text came in, I got sicker to my stomach—I felt like such an idiot. But I couldn't turn it off. _Don't mess with anything,_ I'd been told. I hated following the rules, but if I could endure for just a little longer...Then the teacher stopped talking and stared at me. It buzzed again.

 

            "Did you like her?" Al turns to me.

            I shrug.

            "I had her for Biology 2. When we first moved in, she really helped me. Like, she let me stay in here and grade papers during lunch. Second semester, though, she said I better go out there and make some friends... I don't think she knew how nasty everyone could be. I had the same lunch hour as my brother then, so it turned out all right." 

            The scribble of a pencil. Mrs. Donogue's at her desk.

            Al whips around, "Oh, hello, Mrs. Donogue!"

            "Good morning, Al! I didn't see you there."

            I'm nauseous.

 

            Everyone started to laugh. Some jerk yelled: Who is that, your _mom_? And they laughed harder. _Shut the hell up._ My face was hot. The phone hadn't buzzed again, but they kept laughing. I tried to blow it off. They just did this to you if you weren't a local.

            "Mommy forgot to pack you _lunch_?"

            I knocked a binder off the table. Stood up, shouted that they better shut the fuck up. They were quiet when I left the room, but down the hall I could hear another eruption of laughter.

 

            The lights flick off then back on—dimmer. Al's talking at an empty chair.

            Relief. "You okay?" I ask.

            He shakes his head, confused, "Oh—yeah, sorry. Just talking to myself..."

            I say, "Let's leave."

            His face is flushed.

            Pulsing guilt—but I'm too anxious, "I've gotta get home. Come on." It comes out angrier than I'd meant it.

            The light spikes on brighter.

            Mrs. Donogue asks, "Who's your friend?"

            Shit. Now there's mumurs, steps, movement in the hall. I need go, now. But he's coming with me, like it or not.

            Al turns around. "Oh, he's a student here. This year, I think he'd be in 11th—"

            The sounds get louder, louder. They're here. Shit, shit...we need to go.

            She leans forward, "Who is _he_ , Al,? I'm afraid I lost you there."

            He pauses, stumbles back, "I—"

            The room hits darkness again. Then fades back on, dimmer.            

            She's gone. He's pale.

            "Come on."     

            He's frozen, eyes darting around. It hurts.

            I maneuver my left hand out of my pocket—sticky—and hold it out to him,  "We really need to leave." It's embarrassing.

            Al looks right at me, uncertain. My eyes dodge away. I'd never actually do it, but I'm about to say that I guess I'll need to leave without him when he clenches my hand tight. Its warm. A little too big.

            And so I drag him down the halls; empty, for now. _Get outside, fast._ Gripping my hand, he stumbles after me.

 

            I remember my first day here—spring of 8th grade. People went silent as they passed me. At the other schools, I could slip under the radar without a problem. But at Farwell, no matter how well I managed to keep my mouth shut, no matter how far I pulled my hood over my head, they were always whispering.

            The first week of English, I'd actually done a paper and got it handed back with a big "INCOMPLETE: 0/100" in red pen. The math teacher never let me check out a book.

            One day I was followed home by a group of high schoolers with dark clothes and snarling faces. It was tough to control, but I didn't say a word back to them the whole way. The next morning, one approached me. He said they thought I was pretty cool—plus, I'd be in high school soon anyway. Turned out they were as fed up with this town as I was.

 

            And then, somehow, it dawns on me; Al's real now. He's here—he's _finally_ here. I squeeze his hand tighter. All of the waiting—it did matter. He's back. What he knows, what he remembers... it's not really an issue. It’ll be just the two of us, and I can tell what he needs to know. I can't let this go again.

            We're near entrance, and I can see something buzzing through parking lot. We get closer—it’s a red Ford pickup, circling madly like a wasp. My stomach drops. Envy.

            Al lets go; my hand feels empty and cold. His eyes widen. “Brother?"       


	2. 02

            We didn't use the names our parents gave us because most of them were deadbeat or nuts or not around. I liked the idea. The attitudes around here pissed us off. Once I started hanging out with the group, the school almost forgot about me.

            That summer, we'd get wasted in Lust's dingy, orange basement. I didn't make it home most nights and no one said a word about it.  

            Envy didn't drink. He'd hang around, sometimes hold a bottle, but never open it. He'd just finished his senior year and you didn't really question him. We did wonder what fun he could be having watching TV with a bunch of drunken high schoolers though.

            One night he shoved me awake and said to follow him. It irked me but I was too woozy to fight back, so I stumbled after him, annoyed. He walked fast. It was the middle of the night, and he went all the way out of town into the forest. We trekked up this incline that went on forever. I puked. He kept walking.

            At the top, the trees cleared and the sun was about to rise. Envy held out his arm to stop me; there was a drop you couldn't see in the dark. He shined the light of his phone on it—it went straight down for at least 30 feet. Then he said: this is why they're all nuts.

            They're convinced it's real and that out-of-towners want it for themselves. So they're obsessed with keeping people like you from finding out.

            I asked what "it" was—just this drop-off?

            Basically, he said.

 

            Then first semester, when the group was outside, an old Ford pickup swerved into the parking lot. No one'd seen it before. Two strange-looking kids in button-up shirts and slacks got out. One of them was pretty short and wore this brown jacket that was way too big for him. After they walked into the school, we stayed quiet.

 

            By Friday, we knew all about the Elric brothers. They'd been home schooled in a cabin up North 'til now—probably by some ultra-conservative family—and took all honors classes. Ed, the short one, was the older of the two. He was a know-it-all who liked to piss off the teachers. Al was a year younger, and always spoke like he was at some sort of church luncheon.

            They moved in with the people in the duplex behind mine. I pretended not to notice, because Envy hated their guts and I know he'd have a field day if he found out. As obnoxious as they were, I didn't want the school to associate me with them.

 

            Some months went by, and the focus shifted from their snotty attitudes to how completely bizarre the Elrics were. They only talked to each other. They were close— _really_ close, and the rumors went on from there.

            There was a collective panic when someone said they saw Ed up in the woods. _"Why'd he be up there?" "Did anyone... tell him anything?"_ Then it was practically a rule to avoid them. No matter what you believed, no one liked the Elrics.

            It was winter when the office woman caught me on my way out the front door.  I'd ditched Government plenty of times—she just chose that particular day to call me out. Obnoxious. I hollered at her that it was my lunch hour and to get off my back. She flipped out.

            In the end, I was dragged in and stuck in a chair outside the Principal's Office. It was humiliating. My blood boiled as I waited. In the seat next to me—there was a line—was Al. What could he've done to get in trouble? Surpassed the grading scale?

            He sat uncomfortably on the edge of his seat, absorbed in the argument behind the Principal's door. Every time a voice would rise, he would hold his breath and clench his fists.

            By the time bell rang, I was just bored out of my skull. At least this was eating up English though.

            And he started glancing over at me, like he wanted me to start conversation. Just when I thought he'd given up, he introduced himself, asked for my name. I gave one-word answers; I didn't want to talk to him. But he didn't get it, thinking up all these mundane questions. When he'd exhausted them, he just started talking.

            When he talked, it was strange though. He'd be facing you, but it was like the words were aimed somewhere else.

            He let me know I'd be next in the office—the school always called his brother and him down here together, even if Ed was the one in trouble. He sighed, but said, in all honesty, he preferred it that way.

            Just as he was about to ask about my siblings (and I was devising a way shut him up without getting in more trouble), the door swung open. Ed stamped out of the office, then right out the front door. Al doted after him like a Kindergarten teacher.

            They really were strange.

            When the Principal called me back, I noticed a silver flip-phone on the floor in front of me.

           

            I could say it was out of some roundabout guilt, but I really just wanted to make myself look better. I handed the phone over to Envy after school. I assured him that it just flew out of Ed's pocket—he'd have no clue who took it.

            Envy snatched the phone and started clicking through it with a hungry grin on his face.

 

            At lunch, I'd usually wolf down my food and spend the rest of the hour out with the rest of the group.

            But the next day, Al took a cautious seat right next to me. Like the day he showed up here, he still wore clothes right off 70's TV and folded his hands all properly on the table. It was uncomfortable. I hoped nobody else'd noticed he was sitting next to me.

            I finished my lunch without a word, then stood up to leave. He spoke up—asked if we could talk about something—like he knew me or something. Before I could tell him to leave me alone, he just started going:

            His brother took the truck and didn't come home last night. Ed had never left for so long without telling him, so he was worried.     

            As Al went on and on about this crap, I could feel the lunchroom staring.

            So I asked him what really could've happened.

            He was confused, about list the logical possibilities when—

            _I mean, Ed's not gonna go kill himself, right?_

            Al was startled, then shook his head no.

            I told him to stop acting like an idiot then—Ed's just cooling down or something.

            Hopefully that'd be that.

            After some silence, Al started up again with all of these _really_ s and _you-think-so_ s and _but-what-if_ s, then _sorry-if-I'm-bothering-you_.

 

            Envy said he knew that Ed'd run away, and if I needed to get involved he'd ask me.

 

            For someone so obnoxiously polite, I figured Al'd stop bothering someone who didn't want him around. But with his brother gone, he sat next to me for the rest of the week. I couldn't fathom why; he stopped talking so much after first day anyway. He was a year older than me too—might've figured I was obligated to put up with him.

            Then he started waving at me in the halls like a girl. It was mortifying. God, how clueless could a person be? And somehow, his lack of social awareness started to blur this weird line for me between infuriating and almost, maybe—cute.

            I didn't know what the hell was wrong with me.

            Though the group figured the whole thing was part of the phone scheme (whatever that was) they took every opportunity to take a jab at the fact that the biggest nerd in town had latched on to me. Envy lectured me on messing with business that didn't involve me.                      

            They made me mad. It wasn't my fault Al wouldn't leave me alone.

 

            _I think I know where my brother is_ , he said during lunch, and asked what I knew about that ledge in the woods.           

            I shrugged, told him not to talk people around here about it—they get really defensive.

            He said he knew—Ed messed it up for them the first week. He was fairly certain the meeting with the Principal had something to do with it too. If I didn't mind, could we meet after school and—

            His phone buzzed. He jumped then fumbled to get it out of his pocket. His face lit up with the screen.  

 

            I was sure I'd skip, but my curiosity got the better of me and I decided to see what he knew about the drop-off. Apparently it was the root of my problems here. I stayed in my room and watched for him to come home—the Elrics' window was across from mine. It was snowing.

            Henry pestered me about what I doing. I said it was none of his business. I wasn't usually at home to bother him anyway, so why couldn't he leave me alone?

            Then he sneered: Ooooh, you're hiding out from that Elric kid—tough luck. What, is he following you around after school now? Maybe we should lock our room at night.

I felt queasy. I snapped at him to shut up before I socked his face in.

            _Just a warning, but I'm pretty sure he's gay. I'd watch my back if I were you._ He snickered.

            So I went right over to him and punched him in the gut. I lifted my arm to go for the face, but he looked so freaked out that I left him there and went back to waiting.   At sunset, the light in Al's room flicked on and the snow was slowing. I opened the window to cross the roof. Behind me, Henry was saying not to blame him if Mrs. Tourner got mad.

            I knocked when I got across. Al and some old lady were inside. She looked like she was gonna call the cops, but Al started to frantically explain something to her. She nodded, side-eyed me, and left.

            He pushed open the window. _Why're you—?Wait, get in here, it's freezing._

            I told him I live over there, and pointed to my room.

            _There?_ Right _there?_

_Yeah._

            He still looked pretty confused.

            His room was a bed plus a snowstorm of papers and books that he apologized for (he was surprised as I was that I showed). I was the first person who'd agreed to discuss ledge—him and Ed'd had to be sneaky about getting anything out of anyone else. The papers alluded to it sometimes, hence the mess. He cleared a place on the floor to sit.

            _You do realize I'm not from around here either._

            _Oh._

_I moved here last here._

            Silence.

            Maybe I could fill in the blanks, he suggested. Offer a new perspective.

            I knew he just wanted to tell me about it.

            He said it seemed the people here are convinced that the stories about that ledge are true. Even the adults are... _obsessively_ protective of it. It's as if this superstition has become their reality.

            I hadn't heard any stories.      

            He had a vague idea—though, it was just what he and Ed had gathered. If you fall, or jump...something, off that cliff, they say you'll get everything you'd ever wish for.           

            _Yeah, if you want to die—the drop's about 30 feet. Sounds way too vague for me._

            Al agreed. He wanted to know why they'd be convinced of something so implausible. He supposed the old rumor could provide a sense of identity for a dying town. If someone were to make a joke of it, or disprove it in manner, it'd be taken from them. That's why they're so afraid of outsiders, I think. If everyone's convinced, the stories maintain a sort of reality.

            Made sense—a lot of sense, actually. He hadn't struck me as so practical before.

            Then he gestured to the mess of papers: it seemed like we'd gotten to the end of it. All we need now is concrete confirmation of our assumptions. But, as I'd feared, my brother wants to know more. He's developed this morbid fascination with concept. Though he claims to be interested in the psychology, I'm sure he's looking for proof it could be true at this point. You see, our mom died in the fall...

            Al looked down and picked at the worn out carpet when he told me that that's the reason they're living here now, with old family friends. Of course he wants Mom back, but he not about to run away from home to try and prove some Midwestern fairytale.

            His shoulders were shaking.

            Something came over me, and I wrapped my arms around him tight.

            He cried.

 

            I hadn't heard about the fight that happened that night. No matter how much I bugged Sloth, she wouldn't give me the details. All I knew was that it was between Envy and Greed. Greed'd left the group.

            Envy gave me the phone and a charger (wherever he got it) to hold onto, in case Greed decided to pull anything. He said not to mess with it.

            I couldn't get Al off my mind, but I blamed the phone that kept buzzing in my pocket. It was Friday, Ed still wasn't back, and Al was really worried. I would've figured out how to turn the thing off, but I didn't want to chance Envy noticing. Ditching them for Al all the time, I was getting in bad enough standing.

            By the end of the day my curiosity (or conscience—I wasn't sure) got the better of me. I caved, and went straight home from school to check the phone. There were 20 texts from Al. He was extremely upset.

            I couldn't help what I did—scrolled up to messages from the last week to see how Ed typed (short sentences with proper capitalization). I texted him back that Ed was all right.

            I got a reply right away. He called Ed stubborn and selfish and an idiot. Then he sent: I'm coming up there.

            I told him no. To trust me. Just wait one more day.

            My stomach twisted into knots.

            Then were a stream of texts about how I need to take care of myself—it _is_ winter. How am I keeping my phone charged, anyway? Why don't I pick up his calls? _we don't keep secrets, ed._

            _I'll explain when I'm back._

            I shouldn't have gotten myself into this.

            And he sent one more: _love you._

            I was startled. Oh, his brother—right. Brothers love for each other. Yeah.

            _You too._ It felt weird. I sent one more. _As your brother, of course._

            Later that night, Ed's phone rang twice. When it started for the third time, my guilt had piled up 'til I was so mad at myself that I picked up to tell Al everything.

            But Envy was on the other end. _I knew you'd be messing with things._

            I told him to get to the point—if the fact that I'd pick up wasn't the point in the first place (which was something he'd pull).

            He said he had everything together, and needed my help now. I was supposed to text Al that Ed would meet him in the parking lot at 12:40—nothing else. Tomorrow, follow Al when he goes out there, but don't let him see you. I'll give instructions from there.

 

            By Monday, I knew I’d grown too attached to him. I'd spent the weekend with the group again , though I didn't particularly enjoy it. All I could imagine was Al hiking up there in the dead of winter. I'd be all my fault—and was Ed even there?

            At lunch, I tried to make myself hate him again. I focused on how he sounded like he was never really talking to you, and how he always sounded so formal. How he always tucked his shirt in, was _way_ too into his brother, and kept embarrassing the hell out of me. How he sat down right next to me out of nowhere. What a weirdo.

             But the closer I looked, the more things made me want to smile. I couldn’t believe myself.

            And, of course he didn’t like me back.

            Why would I even _want_ him to like me back?

            What am I thinking?

            Whatever prank Envy was planning, I couldn’t get upset over it. Al's one of the Elrics—probably thinks he's too good for me anyway. Plus, it'd be fun—whatever it was. What better way to get this out of my system?

            When the hour neared its end, Al said he was gonna go wait by the front doors. Ed was supposed to meet him at the start of 7th—he didn't want to miss class, but Ed told him 12:40 and he hadn't replied since. _Do you want to come with me?_

 

            We sat on the floor, near the wall of the entry-way. Al didn’t take his eyes off the slushy parking lot. It was grey and freezing out there. He was rubbing and rubbing his hands together. I couldn't tell if he was more anxious than cold. He told me not to wait here if I didn’t want to.

            I just took one of his hands in mine. He looked over at me, and I looked away—my face felt hot. I wasn't sure what I was doing. I'm such an idiot. Am I freaking him out?               

            I looked back at him and our eyes locked. I could see a quick smile before he turned his head back to looking outside.          

            I let go of his hand and I apologized: that was dumb.

            He shook his head no. He might've still been smiling.

            Now the people and cars were flooding back—lunch was over. Though the group probably knew I was with Al, I hoped and hoped they wouldn't notice me here. They walked right past. Once everyone else'd trampled through, he stood up: _Well, my brother's supposed to be out there now. Wish me luck._ And smiled.

            I forgot what I was doing for a second, just watching him walk out into the cold. From my stomach to my forehead, everything was buzzing with a really mixed-up joy that I didn't _want_ to get out of my system. Maybe I could stop this. Sure the group would make my life hell (not to mention the rest of the school), but could I really be exempt from that at this point?

            When he was a good way in to the cars, I followed. I couldn’t see him; the vehicles were like a maze. Finally, I spotted the red pickup in the back. I made my way over.

            Then there was a thud, a yell, and something hit the ground. I ran over to the car, and Al was face-down on the blacktop. Envy was rolling duck tape around Al's wrists, tying them behind his back—he's unconscious.

            He shouted to come over there and help lift Al up. I felt sick. Frozen. Envy scowled.

            We hoisted him through the half-door to the cramped back seat. Envy cut off a final piece of tape and slapped it over his mouth. Then he told me to get in there too, in case Al woke up. I got in, he slammed the door, and I hoped for the best.

            That’s when I saw Ed in the passenger seat, wearing that bulky  jacket. He was slumped over to the side. Then Envy started the car and drove it at full speed out of the parking lot. Ed bent side to side as Envy whipped around the corners.

            He zipped down the street, running through red lights and swerving from lane to lane. Al's head kept hitting the window. I reached over, sat him up, and tried to hold him in place. Envy's vision was glazed over in thrill.

            When he'd driven out of town, I knew something was really wrong. He took a sharp turn onto a dirt road leading up into the woods. We were heading up a hill at as fast as the car could take us. Branches scraped the truck as it bumbled over stones and uneven ground.

            I’d only ever seen the place at night, but I knew where we were. The truck'd almost reached the top, and he wasn't slowing down. His mad grin reflected in the rearview mirror.

            This wasn't good.

            I lugged Al closer to me and gripped the door handle. The trees had cleared now. Shit. We were at the edge. I lifted the handle, the door whipped open. I locked both arms around his torso, and pushed us out.

            My shoulder hit the ground and we tumbled as the truck flew forward. Then we were flying too, and plummeting.

 

            I opened my eyes to a darkening sky. My head pounded. I could feel the world spinning. There was a sharp pain in my arm. It was cold.

            To my left was a bulky shadow. The truck—I realized. Crushed on the front, standing at an awkward, almost vertical angle with the back side resting on the cliff. Glass was all over the ground.

            On the other side of the vehicle, was the coat. Its front faced me, but Ed’s head was cruelly twisted out the wrong side of the neck, looking away. I wanted to puke.

            Right. Al.

            My heart beat like crazy, coming to grips with the situation. I panicked.

            But he was to my left, a foot away. His eyes were closed, the tape was still over his mouth. Small huffs escaped his nose. There was a gash on the side of his head, draining his skin of color.

            I couldn't move my fingers. It hurt to turn my head. My heart slowed and a disembodied numbness set in.

            So the sun set began to set. I listened to his shallowing breath. We watched the birds fly overhead.

 


	3. 03

            The truck leaves the parking lot in one swift turn. I let out a sigh of relief.  

            Al’s quiet, fixes skeptical eyes on me. He's figured it out. We’re still behind the front doors of the school.

            I tell him, “That’s not how it works. We can’t exactly choose.”

            He doesn't look convinced.

            I plainly explain that he’ll wake up one morning and realize that the people he didn’t particularly want around aren’t around anymore. Don’t give them another thought, and it’ll stay that way. Others he’ll think and think about, but they'll never show up. It depends.

            _And its even likely with two of us around._ But I keep that to myself.

            "Who was it—in the parking lot?"

            “Just a truck," I say, and I can tell where this is going, "But people can't come back from the dead. Not even here.”

            And I'm almost telling the truth.

           

            On the way back, Al mutters to himself: “So he couldn’t have brought Mom back anyway.”

            It’s like a punch in the gut—so aggravating I can't respond. _The point is, we’re here now!  You_ survived!

At the same time, he’s not the kind of person to just accept what he's told. And as much as it bothers me, Ed won't be off his mind anytime soon. I don't want to dwell on how close things got back there. I tell myself that if it did happen, I’d be able to balance it out. But the truth is, there’s two of us now, and what happened in the Bio room proved it doesn't work like that. For anything to work, we'll need to be on the same—

            “Is something wrong?”

            We’re in front of Al’s place now. I need to tell him before he goes. I take a breath and ask, “Do you know why we survived the accident?”

            He frowns at it like a trick question.

            “You said you don’t remember past the parking lot. So unless they told you, you wouldn’t know what happened.” I wait for an answer, “Did they tell you?”

            He shakes his head no, concerned.

            “This.” I lift my fake arm.

            He looks on for me to continue, “...what happened to it?"

            “Pulverized in the accident— but I didn't realize for a while afterwards. It happened when I jumped us out of the truck, right before it went over the edge. We would've been crushed if we'd been inside.

            I had this strange expectation of Al running over and hugging me tight after he heard what I'd done. He'd thank me, realize what I'd done for him—how long I'd been waiting for him, and be so happy we'd both made it.

            But his posture becomes solid. And he apologizes with empty eyes.

            I ram the toe of my shoe into the pavement, stare at it, and say something about how its strange no one told you, huh? The Rockbells paid for my prosthetic.

            He's still standing like that. “I’m so sorry.”

 

            I wait inside for a few days. It’s stuffy. But I'm giving myself time to think, and if I leave there's the risk of seeing him before I'm ready. The confinement will get to me soon enough. Until then—think.

            I sleep a lot. It makes me so restless that I have to sleep more to forget the feeling.  Al knocks on the door. I lay down for another nap, but I don't fall asleep, so I decide to take apart the TV. He comes back later, knocks for longer. I can’t get the thing back together—I don't have the right tools. I go to sleep again.

            In the end, I’ve avoided thinking at all.

 

            Which wakes me up with a shock in the middle of the night. If Al can bring his brother back, it would've worked these past few days. I’ve let my guard down. Is that why he was knocking?

            I head out of the house, around to Al's. If anyone’d answer the door at 3AM, it’d be him. When I get there, his front door's wide open and its dark inside.

            It's startles me. This doesn’t make sense. I need to check if he's in there. So I creep into the living room, where night is shining through the blinds. Nothing looks out-of-place. I head up the stairs to find Al’s room.

            Its closed. I hope that's a good thing. I swing open the door, and it's just him in here, still asleep. So I shut it behind me, lower myself into a corner of the room and wait until morning. To be safe.

 

            Its early when he wakes up. He rubs his eyes, sits up in bed, then jumps when he sees me. His shoulders tense up and he demands to know what I’m doing here and why I'm in here. He sounds offended.

            I tell him I walked by last night and the door was open. I was just checking up on him.

            “The front door?”

            “Yeah.”

            “Hmm,” he doesn’t look as worried as he should, “I guess I must’ve left it open.”

            I follow him down the stairs. His hair's loose again, tangling over his back. He’s in boxers and big t-shirt that probably fit him before. Its unsettling to compare him to how he looked when we met.

            Though I didn't close the door, downstairs hasn't changed since last night. The layout of the place is the same as mine and just as cluttered, but it feels foreign. The mess looks like it was hand-picked and coordinated. He pulls the door shut and locks it.

            “Thank you,” he's still looking at the door, “Still, it’s a litle rude to just come into someone’s house without letting them know.”

            I nod, but his back's facing me. Then he turns towards the kitchen, “Are you hungry? I have Mini-Wheats, and I think there’s a little toast left.”

             “I’m fine.”

            He goes and pours me orange juice anyway, saying that I should at least have something. While I drink it, he asks if I would mind staying—just for a little while, unless I’m busy of course.

            Which must mean Ed isn't here. I'm relieved, and more glad than I should be. “Sure.”

 

            He keeps asking what I want to do: look at his rock collection, he could show me some books, or  he thinks he might be able to find some boardgames in the storage closet. _Is this how he spends his time?_ I'm reminded of a nerdy elementary-schooler, but I guess that's Al.

            I tell him I don’t care, because I don't. I'm just captivated with the fact that he wants me over, and that its just the two of us.

            We’re in the living room floor, part-way through a tired game of monopoly when he catches me studying the TV between turns.

            “It's pretty old, isn't it? But it does still work. Do you want to see what’s on?”

            I shrug, and he abandons the mess of monopoly to get the remote. I sit cross-legged next to him on the couch as he flips through the channels; they're all as dull as the game was. I yawn, tired from staying up all night.

            His leg brushes my knee as he learns forward. It's warm.

            “It doesn't look like anything good's on. Do you mind if we stick with this?” He asks. It’s a documentary about the rainforest. “We have some old tapes in the closet, but they’re not mine and I—”

            “This is fine.”

            "If you want to do—"        

            “I think I broke the TV,” I say, “at my place.”

            He looks at me a little strange then shifts his attention to the toucans panning across the screen. He hasn’t changed yet and his hair's still down. It still looks odd to me, but not bad. The t-shirt's falling off the side of his shoulder. Then I realize I've been staring at his collar bone for a long time and I turn my head to the toucans too.

            When I'd been around before, he'd always made sure he was put-together. Today he hasn't even changed. Does this mean he's more comfortable with me?

            Still, he seems somewhat nervous. But I guess I'm nervous too. He's chewing at his lip. I find myself staring at him again.

            So I say: Al. He looks over. A smile slips out, then I learn forward and put my lips on his. They're soft; mine feel like sandpaper against them. I haven’t done this before. My cheeks are hot.

            We stay like that until he starts kissing me back slowly. He loops his arms around the back of my neck. He's done this before.

            I mirror his action. His chest is breathing, beating on mine. I move faster. I can taste his lips and then I’m on top of him. My hand moves under his shirt, onto his hip.

            Then everything clicks in my head. I freeze, then jerk back up into my seat. I intently watch the rainforest bugs hollowing out a tree trunk while I can still feel his lips on mine and I'm waiting for my heart to slow down.

            He lays there for a minute more then wriggles himself back up next to me. He's warmer than before. We just stare at the TV. Then I say: The Rockbells aren’t here anymore.

            He clasps his fingers together in his lap, “mhm.”

            The program runs through 'til the end. He asks if I want to leave.

            I walk out the front, my head buzzing with the realization that it really is just us now. The idea's enamoring as much as it disturbs me.

           

            I spend the night on the roof, pretending that he’s still in the hospital and I’m still waiting and the Rockbells are still going about their lives. The air is crisp, and I hope the feeling washes away everything wrong about the situation. Really, this _is_ what I’d hoped for. I can still feel him kissing me.

            Al’s silhouette appears on his bedroom curtain. The idea of him moves around as I try and work out how to fix what’s so unnerving about this. It gets late, he flicks off the light. And I realize that there's actually nothing wrong—the problem's all inside my head

 

            My name wakes me up; I can’t remember the last time I’ve heard it. It's being shouted. I blink—its hot, bright—I fell asleep out here. My back is sore when I sit up.

            It’s Al, yelling out his window. It couldn’t be anyone else. “Are you alright?”

            I yawn and nod.

            He looks like he’s about to say something else, but opts to open the window a little wider and tries to maneuver himself out. He crawls onto the roof, focused, shaky.

            “Just stay there.” I stand up, cross the gap and sit facing him.

            He gets himself seated too and smiles. Today he’s put-together again, with his hair tied up in back and strange plaid shirt on. “I wanted to apologize—for yesterday.”

            I nod.

            “I didn't know how to tell you. I didn’t actually…want them gone. It just happened. I didn’t know what to say,” his body’s stiff, looking down, “You were right—about everything.”

            _Everything? So he can't bring Ed back_. “It's how things are,” I say. I can't help but feeling guilty.

            “But, yesterday, I shouldn’t have pushed you to leave. Especially after…” he looks away, “What I’d like to ask you is…”

            “What?” He's making me nervous.

            “Do you want to date?”

            My heart races, “You're asking if I want to go out?”

            “They’re the same thing, right?”

            “Sure.”

            “Sure to what?”

            "Going out. I mean, I don’t have many options, do I?”

            He's quiet.

            “It was a joke.”

            He nods.

 

            In the afternoon, we’re trekking to the drop-off through the woods with backpacks full of blankets because we couldn’t find sleeping bags. I haven’t been back since the accident, but I know we’re going the right way—there’s enough space between the trees for a truck to fit through.

            The trip’s Al’s idea. He wants to see if it’ll bring anything back for him, and puts on Ed's ugly jacket before we leave. I let him know that he was knocked out, laying on the back seat, so scenery probably won't do much for him. He says that you can never know, and that he's wanted to see where it happened anyway.

            At the start, he tries to hold my hand which is nice but not very convenient because we’re going uphill with these bulky things on our backs. He realizes and stops. Then he’s gasping for breath, even though we’ve just started. He's not used to moving around so much—I have to keep my pace in check or I end up too far ahead. But he refuses to take a break until he starts coughing so hard he needs to sit down. We're there for a while. He clutches my hand again. I suggest he take the jacket off because its probably making him overheat. He won’t.

           

            The sky's a blazing orange when we reach the drop-off. I lug the backpack off my shoulders and drop to the ground. But Al doesn’t stop, walking right up to the edge. He stares down for a long time.

            When watching him starts to make me queasy, I shout that I’m unpacking the blankets.

            He looks up, then comes over to help. “It really is nice up here.” Its like he’s looking past me again. The change in his glance is so that subtle it scares me.

            I lay out the blankets.

            He continues, "It reminds me of my old house—it was surrounded by trees like these. Mom would let my brother and I set up camp in the back yard. She'd make us sleep inside though.”

            I’m rummaging through the bags, “We forgot a flashlight.”

            He’s staring off at the edge. Is he planning to jump, thinking it’ll undo all of this? Or maybe he's expecting Ed to wave up at him from the bottom.

            “We forgot a flashlight."

            “—Oh. I think we should be fine. I've heard that the only large animals here are deer."

           

            We’re sitting on the blankets when he says he'd like to go down to the bottom—asks if its possible.

            I tell him yeah, but it would be dark by the time we'd get there. We should go in the morning.

            Then I lean over to kiss him again. But this time his mouth is cold and barely moves, so it only lasts a second. He gives me an absent smile in response.

            Then I flop down on my back and look at the sky. The orange is now a fading purple. He lays down beside me and we don’t say a word. A flock of birds flies overhead, and he wraps his fingers in my fake ones. I can’t feel him.

 

            It's dark when Al’s breathing gets steady and shallow; he's curled up sleeping.

            I stare and stare at him. If there weren't conflicting forces, he'd be able to see Ed, or even his mom again. I've been selfish. It's possible for him to be happy, have what he really wants.

            So I stand up. I take a last look at Al, knowing that in the morning things will be alright for him. Then I close my eyes, and walk forward. Right off the edge.


	4. Epilogue

            They let me out of the hospital for the funeral, accompanied by a policeman and a nurse. I saw a bunch of people who must've felt obligated to come, but I barely recognized them. It'd been so long since I’d seen anyone else—or maybe not. I hadn't figured it out yet.

            When Ed walked up to say a few words with his missing arm, I felt cold stares on my shoulders. I could guess what they were thinking: Is there no justice in the world?

 

            The doctors had been sure Al would make it, but my condition was questionable. They'd been close to pulling the plug on me when I woke up. I don't remember it—once I’d realized I was awake, I’d been up for a while. I was in a hospital. With two arms.

            They stuck things in them, ran tests. Nobody visited except the police with a few questions. As the staff walked in and out of my room, I heard about it. _So sudden…coincidence…shock for his family…_

            Al's condition had rapidly deteriorated the day I woke up. There was nothing they could do in time. He died in the middle of that night.

 

            The people at the funeral hadn't liked either of us, but I knew they felt I'd taken Al's place. From the first reports out, he wasn’t supposed to die. I probably would.

            Envy got away with some fractures and a minor concussion—he was going to jail.

            I'd be on trial after they discharged me.

            


End file.
